


Of Music And Sickness

by dangergays



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Sickfic, just wholesome stuff, sick!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 21:20:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21004340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dangergays/pseuds/dangergays
Summary: Frank gets sick on tour.





	Of Music And Sickness

**Author's Note:**

> Soo... I've been binging F/G/G fics lately, which you can obviously tell influenced this little oneshot a lot... I'm sure it carries a lot of similarities to other F/G/G fics out there which im sorry about, but i just had this in my head and had to get it out. Enjoy!

He should have seen this coming. They should’ve all seen it coming, so when Frank beelined straight to the couch on the tour bus and flopped down after the show, without even taking a shower first, no one was surprised. Frank got sick over the smallest things, they all knew that, it was inevitable. 

“What’s up, Frank?” Gerard, the first person after Frank to enter the bus, asked.

Frank’s face was smushed into the backrest of the couch so all that could be heard in reply was “aflejlsfobengestunggen”, which could be translated into “I feel fucking disgusting”.

“I tried to warn you about walking outside with wet hair. It’s literally 30 degrees outside,” Was Mikeyway’s dry retort before heading to the bathroom. Frank didn’t even get the chance to flip him off. This sucked.

Gerard sat next to Frank’s legs, and laid a comforting hand on his calf, 

“Maybe you should go lie down in your bed instead? I’ll bring you some tea.”

The thought of being shunned to the bunks kind of hurt Frank, but the promise of something warm eased the blow a bit. By this time everyone else had piled into the main area of the bus, and Frank knew he was taking up space. Without saying a word he retreated to the back to the bus, moping in his bed. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, his throat hurt, and just turning his head made his eyes ache. His limbs and joints were sore, but that’s just how they were every night. He could hear his friends in the room over, laughing and talking about when Ray tripped on the cords on stage earlier. Your body turning against you sucked in general, but not being able to enjoy the post-show bliss, especially with your friends, was the worst part of it all. He didn’t even have the energy to call Grant to have at least _ some _ company.

He hugged the warm mug against himself, trying to find some sort of comfort in it and the kiss Gerard had left on his cheek.

-

Nothing could ever stop Frank. No broken bone, or accident, or bad news, or whatever could stop Frank for doing what he wanted and loved. And definitely not a stupid fucking cold. Yeah, his body might be protesting, screaming, begging Frank to slow down, but Frank didn’t listen to no one. (Except maybe his boyfriend. Sorry, boyfriends. He still wasn’t used to the plural). He had played a thousand shows while being sick, why would this time be any different? He had played hooked up to a fucking gas tank before, he could do this.

“I’m worse,” Frank whined when he woke up one morning two weeks later. He walked over to Gerard who was sitting on the tour bus couch reading a magazine, and put his head in his lap.

“How can you be worse?” Ray who was standing by the counter asked, coffee mug in hand.

“I don’t think it’s a regular cold- ” Frank broke off with a serious coughing fit, “I wanna fucking die.” Whenever he was sick Frank rarely complained, he was more of a suffer-in-silence-masochist-type, so this was definitely a red flag. Gerard stroked Frank’s hair while Frank stole Gerard’s coffee mug.

“Yuck, keep that, I don’t wanna catch whatever you’ve got.”

“Thanks, bitch.” Frank grumbled while pinching Gerard’s side. The coffee hurt his throat and triggered yet another coughing fit.

Later that day there were mumblings about whether or not to get Frank a replacement, so that he could get some rest, to which he replied with a “don’t even fucking think about it!”. There was no way he’d let them _ replace him _, he wasn’t replaceable. Right?

-

It soon turns out though, that they should have gotten another guitarist to fill in for Frank, because he just fucking passed out on stage. It was in the middle of Ray’s solo in _ Sharpest Lives _, it was honestly quite dramatic. Everyone was too busy doing their own thing, it took the band a few moments to notice the lack-of-Frankness that usually filled the energy on stage, and when they did they saw his body limp on the floor. Not that Frank dropping to the ground was anything unusual, but this time something was definitely wrong, and the medic running out on stage was enough to tell them what was going on. They finished the song and cut the set short, worry sinking into everyone’s hearts.

When Frank eventually woke up he was back on the bus with a splitting head-ache. It felt like someone had taken a meat cleaver and slam-dunked it into the back of his head Friday the 13th-style. Coughing up mucus wasn’t a great feeling either, and this notified everyone on the bus that Frank was awake.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Gerard said from the door, pity coating his voice.

Frank just groaned and coughed out a “like death”, staring straight up at the ceiling. He could hear a new pair of footsteps approaching the door. 

It was Bob: “The medics said you need to lie down for now and that you need to see a proper doctor as soon as possible. We’re taking you there now.”

Driving the tour bus all the way to the hospital would be too flashy and draw way too much attention, so when they got to the hotel they were staying at for the night, they rushed Frank off to the hospital in a private car, Gerard sitting next to him holding his hand while Frank rested his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder.

According to the doctor, Frank had managed to acquire pneumonia. This was most likely caused by the case of the flu he had had earlier, that Frank chose to push through, and later developed into something more serious. He ignored how Gerard’s hand squeezed his when the doctor said this, and decided to mentally roll his eyes instead. 

After being prescribed some antibiotics and a stern order from the doctor (rest, water, sleep and absolutely no smoking), they were soon out the door and on their way back. 

“Thank God that was the last show for a few weeks, I don’t know what we would have done otherwise.” Gerard said in the car.

Frank laughed humorlessly, “Probably find someone better. Unfortunately I’m holdin’ on ‘til the very end. Dying for my art, y’know?”. Gerard gave him a look that could be read as both annoyed and disappointed, but soon turned to genuine worry as Frank started coughing again.

-

The second the pair stepped into their apartment in LA, the very next day, Frank was almost swept off his feet by the tall man on the other side throwing himself over him. The sentiment was very nice and made his heart swell, but Frank wasn’t exactly in the shape to reciprocate hugs right now.

“Hi to you too, I guess,” Frank managed to squeeze out with a hoarse voice. When Grant still didn’t let go, Frank started to gently slap Grant’s chest, “stop that, you’re gonna get sick too.”

But Grant just kissed the top of his head and said, “Don’t be silly.”

Gerard, who had been busy carrying the bags into the bedroom, crept up behind Grant and embraced him from the back, “Hi.”

A laugh emitted from deep down in Grant’s stomach, and he reached out a hand for Gerard as well, “Hi to you too”. They were like one entity of love and admiration just standing there in the hallway, and the weight Frank didn’t know he had been carrying on his shoulders for the past few weeks finally lifted. He might have shed a single tear into Grant’s white shirt, but he managed to hide it.

When the pretzle of human limbs finally untangled, Frank was immediately rushed to the giant bed they had in the bedroom. This apartment technically on belonged to Gerard and Frank - Grant had his own apartment on the other side of town, they had gifted Grant with his very own key before they went on tour. They also had their own apartment back in Jersey, much to Frank’s persistence, but the apartment in LA was much more suitable for the three of them, as Grant flew from LA to Scotland about every other day or so. At least that’s what it felt like for the other two.

Gerard had of course met Grant through his work as an aspiring comic book writer back in 2006, and Grant had been taken aback by his sheer talent, confidence and goals. Later he had been taken aback by Gerard’s pure charisma and… Sexual prowess. He had of course been disappointed to learn that he already had a boyfriend, but when he was eventually introduced to the powerhouse that was Frank Iero, he just _ knew _ they could work something out. Two years later and they didn’t regret a second, although it took a while for Frank to realize that Grant wanted _ both _ him and Gerard equally, and that Frank wasn’t just someone Grant had to tolerate to be able to be with Gerard.

The sheets were clean and didn’t smell like the collective sweat and musk of five men cooping up in a tour bus for four months, and the mattress was so soft Frank felt like he was sinking into the floor. He was a bit of a clean freak and preferred the “feminine” househeld items over whatever other dudes apparently used. Right now he was on cloud nine, and could finally relax without feeling guilty. He thought it couldn’t get any better until he felt the mattress sinking a bit to his right.  
“Gerard told me,” Grant started, pausing for a second as if he was unsure how to phrase the next part of the sentence, “you’ve just said a few things that has made him worry…”

Frank coughed for a second while thinking about what Grant was trying to say, “what?”

“Well, just a few off-hand comments about the band replacing you, or… Not being good enough.” He laid down next to Frank, a hand over his chest.

“Oh,” Frank was trying to wrack his brain, “that. I think I was just being self deprecating because of my already deprecating state.” He turned his head towards Grant, and attempted a laugh, which just turned into yet another cough, so he turned away again.

“No, I know, but… I’ve learnt that when people make self deprecating jokes, deep down they really mean it. You don’t really think that, do you?”

Frank shrugged, avoiding eye contact. 

Grant just sighed and began caressing Frank’s sheet clad waist, “Would your band have made it this far if you actually were shit?”

Frank shrugged again and mumbled: “Coldplay is still around, aren’t they?” He would laugh at his own joke if he wasn’t busy being a bit sappy.

“Don’t say that,” Grant frowned, “You’re an amazing guitarist, and it pains me to see you doubt yourself.”

Before Frank could come up with an answer, there was a knock by the door. They both looked over at Gerard standing in the doorway, medicine and a glass of water in his hands.

“Am I interrupting?” He asked nervously. Grant was about to answer when Frank stepped in:

"Definitely not. Come lay down.”

Gerard grinned and walked over to the bed. He handed Frank the pill and the glass which he swallowed dutifully before Gerard flopped down on the other side of Frank, snuggling his face into the crook of Frank’s neck.

“If both of you end up deadly sick tomorrow I don’t wanna hear any complaints.” Frank said humorously, but they could both tell he was worried.

“We’ll be fine,” Gerard said and hugged tight around Frank’s middle, “Just don’t kiss me. Or sneeze on me.”

Human touch felt really nice after having felt so isolated for such a long period of time. He had almost forgotten how much he craved it, and now he was showered with affection from both sides.

“My boys…” Frank sighed and closed his eyes.

The other two sighed in contentment, and Frank suddenly got a mischievous gleam in his eyes,

“My bitches…” He grinned, which earned him a playful slap from Gerard and a “we all know that’s not true” from Grant.

He loved his boyfriends, pneumonia be damned.


End file.
